Molloy
by HaleyDub
Summary: The story of Cheater Molloy's past and the tragedy that brought him to New York City.
1. Part One

Part I Early morning sun streamed in through the window, playing softly over the features of the sleeping boy. He opened his bright blue-green eyes, sqinted against the light, and closed them again, rolling over and burying his face in his pillow. Sleep didn't find him again, and after a long moment he rolled over again and sat up, stretching and yawning. His sandy blonde hair was sleep-tousled, his eyes only half-open. 

Seven-year-old Malachy Molloy realized, after a moment, why he had awakened at such an uncharacteristic hour. He caught the faint sound of his baby sister, Annie, crying in her crib in his parents' room. Placing his feet on the floor, he padded softly into the other bedroom, spotting baby Annie sitting in her crib, crying her eyes out. He lifted the toddler from her crib and she laughed, grabbing handfulls of his hair. Wincing, he tried to sit her down on their parents' bed and free his hair from her hands at the same time. When he was finally out of her grasp, he changed her diaper and put the dirty one in a basin of water to soak. Then, he carried her into the kitchen and sat her down while he made a small breakfast of bread, butter, and milk. 

His parents had left early for town; they didn't expect to return until sundown or later. So this morning, Malachy was man of the house. He took pride in this, for he had never been allowed to stay home alone before. 

The Molloy farm in northeastern Pennsylvania was in a somewhat secluded area, so Malachy's parents felt at ease with letting him stay home with Annie and his other two siblings: brothers Alexander, age five, and Tobias (affectionately referred to as Toby), age three. 

Toby came wandering into the kitchen, still halfway asleep and bumping into everything. Alexander soon followed, stretching and grumbling about how he never got to sleep late because of Annie's crying. 

"Sit down, I'm making breakfast," Malachy told them. 

The boys obeyed, too sleepy to argue with their older brother. After a moment, Malachy set before them small plates boasting buttered biscuits. He gave them each a small glass of milk and served himself as well. Two-year-old Annie cried for her breakfast also, so Malachy crumbled a biscuit and mixed it with milk, forming a kind of mush which would be easier for the baby to eat. He fed her, and when he was through, ate his own breakfast. 

"What are we going to do today?" Alexander asked. 

Malachy shrugged. "Ma and Pop don't want us getting into any trouble, so I guess we'll just stay inside." 

"Let's go swimming!" Toby exclaimed. 

"No," Malachy replied. "Ma would wring my neck." 

"No she wouldn't," Alexander argued. "We won't get hurt." 

Malachy sat there for a minute. It was two against one. He wanted desperately to give in to his brothers, for it was hot and stuffy in the house, but he was afraid of what Ma and Pop would do to him if they found out. Suddenly, he reached a compromise. 

"Say, why don't we just go fishing?" he asked. 

No answer. Toby made a face, but Alexander finally nodded. "Okay." 

This convinced Toby, and he nodded his head excitedly, grinning from ear to ear. Annie clapped her hands and squealed, "Fis! Fis!" 

The boys laughed at Annie, and Malachy picked her up. "Let's get our clothes on," he said, "and we'll go fish in the pond for a little while." 

When they were all ready, they went out to the barn to find sticks, string, and hooks to fish with. After that was done, they headed down to the pond. 

Sitting down leisurely at the bank of the pond, Malachy cast his line and watched as his brothers mimiced his action. Malachy watched Annie closely as she chased a butterfly on the bank. "Be careful, Annie," he told her as she squealed and laughed at the Monarch butterfly as it circled around her head. 

Toby laughed as he tugged his line in. "I got one!" 

Grinning, Malachy helped him get the fish off the hook and threw it back into the pond. The boys caught several more fish until they ran out of bait. "C'mon, let's go back inside," Malachy told them. 

Alexander and Toby strongly opposed this suggestion. "Get more bait!" Alexander insisted. 

After a moment Malachy sighed. He couldn't bribe them to come indoors because he didn't have anything to bribe them _with_. So, he answered, "Fine, I'll go up to the house and get more bread. Annie," he said, taking her and sitting her down in the grass by her brothers, "Stay put." Then, turning to the boys, said, "You two watch Annie." 

She grinned up at him and he had to smile and ruffle her golden curls before turning and heading up to the house. 

Once inside, he grabbed a loaf of bread and was about to go out the door when he spotted movement out of the corner of his eye. He looked down toward it and saw that it was a mouse, looking up at him from under the table. 

Heaving a sigh, Malachy found the broom and it took a good ten minutes to chase the mouse outside. He then picked up the bread and made his way outside and back down to the pond. There he saw something that would change his life forever. 

Annie was in the pond, floating face-down. Alexander and Toby were only sitting there, looking. Dropping the bread, Malachy raced down the bank and into the pond, gathering the baby up in his arms. "What happened?" 

Toby answered, "Annie fell in." 

"I told you to watch her!" Malachy cried, trying to revive the baby any way he could. 

Toby's lip trembled as he replied, "We did watch her, Machy." 

Malachy called her name, shook her, rubbed her back, did everything he could think of doing, and she still didn't stir. Tears filled his eyes and rolled down his cheeks and all he could think was, "I should never have left." 

Silently, he carried the baby up to the house, his brothers following. Malachy had only attended one funeral his entire life, but he lay the baby down on his parents' bed and folded her small hands over her chest like he had seen his grandfather lying. 

Malachy sat by his sister's bedside until that night, when his parents arrived home. 

"Malachy?" he heard his mother call. 

He ran to her, throwing his arms around her and crying, "I didn't mean to, Ma! I didn't mean to!" 

The following events came in a blur to Malachy. A funeral was held the next day, and all he could think was, "I killed her. It was my fault." 

Weeks passed. Every night he couldn't sleep, and every night he heard his mother cry. Silent tears rolled down his cheeks one night as he decided that he could no longer stay. The pain was too great, and all he could ever think of was his sister. 

Silently, he packed a few provisions in a burlap sack. Creeping downstairs, he slipped out the front door, never to return. 

That night, Malachy made his way to the train station. Noting that there was no one around at such a late hour, he crept up to the tracks and made his way down to a boxcar whose door had been left open. Tossing his bag through the doorway, he hoisted himself up and crawled into a back corner of the car, curling up in some hay that was strewn haphazardly around the floor. Sleep found him quickly despite the late-night chill and the hard metal floor of the boxcar. 

Malachy awoke the next morning to yells of railroad workers. In a panic, he covered himself with hay, flattening himself against the floor and praying that no one found him. Several hours passed, and during that time he heard cargo being loaded onto the car. At one point he feared that he would actually be crushed by some of the crates that were being moved to his side of the car. Fortunately, the workers didn't check to see why one of the crates wouldn't slide all the way to the wall - the reason being that Malachy was between the two - but they just overlooked that small detail and continued loading. Soon, he heard the joyful sound of metal on metal as the workers wrenched the boxcar door shut, and he attempted to sit up. However, the crate that was holding him against the wall wouldn't budge. Groaning, Malachy closed his eyes and propped his head on his arm; this was going to be a long trip. 

For the first few hours, Malachy drifted in and out of sleep. He hadn't slept well in so long that it seemed just as well he did it in the boxcar - he couldn't move anyway. But when those hours had passed, he grew restless and his mind began wandering back home. He already missed his family. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he thought of his mother, his father, his brothers...and his sister. The thought of Annie's smiling face, her golden curls, the way she used to laugh at him when he made faces at her, made him cry all the more. Malachy could hardly bear it as he lay there on the cold floor of the boxcar, and after a while he cried himself to sleep. 

Malachy was awakened by the sudden lurch of the train coming to a stop. After a moment, the door to his boxcar was wrenched open and men began unloading the cargo which was packed in with him. Suddenly, he began to wonder what would be done to him if he was discovered, which he surely would be. Would they send him back home? Would they take him to the police? His mind raced with thoughts such as these as the workers got closer and closer to him. Then, the crate that had pinned him against the wall was removed. 

Malachy covered his head, frightened at what might happen. He heard a male voice. 

"Mack. Hey, Mack, come look at this. It's a kid." 

"He alive?" 

Malachy felt the man's boot dig into his side and yelped, looking up at the two men with sheer terror in his eyes. 

"Yeah, he's alive. Hey, kid, whatcha doin', stowin' away on a train to New Yawk?" the first man asked. 

Malachy's eyes widened. New York? He didn't answer the man, only grabbed his bag, jumped up, and fled the boxcar. 

"Hey, kid! Come back here!" 

Malachy tried to run faster, but his stiff joints from the train ride prevented him from doing so, and the two workers caught up to him. The first, who was tall and gangly, with brown eyes and red hair, took him by the arm. The other man, who had brown hair and blue eyes, stood by, watching. 

"We ain't gonna hurt ya. I'm Joe, and this here's Mack. What's ya name, kid?" 

"Malachy," he answered in a hoarse, terrified whisper. 

"Malachy, you gonna tell us why you stowed away on that train?" Joe asked. 

Malachy set his jaw and shook his head, willing the tears that filled his eyes to go away. 

"All right, then. Well, as long as you're here, I guess you oughta have somewhere's to stay," Joe said. "So, let me tell ya what I'm gonna do. I'm gonna take ya to the place I lived when I was a kid: the newsboys' lodging house over there on Duane Street. Fair deal?" 

Mack, seeing that he'd be no help to Joe, tipped his hat to Malachy and turned, walking away. 

Malachy thought for a moment, and then nodded. "All right." 

Joe grinned. "C'mon kid. Kloppman, the guy who runs the joint, is a real nice fella. He'll take good care of ya, and you'll make a lot of new friends there." 

The possibility of making friends made Malachy brighten. Back in Pennsylvania, he'd never had many friends because he lived so far away from town. 

Joe talked the whole way to the lodging house. When they finally reached it, Joe opened the door and led Malachy inside. 

An elderly man was sitting behind a desk, looking through a big book. Joe cleared his throat and Kloppman looked up and grinned. "Long time no see, Joe." 

"Yeah," he answered, "been workin'. I picked up a new kid for ya, though." 

"That so?" Kloppman asked, standing to look over the counter at Malachy. "What's ya name, kid?" 

"Malachy Molloy." 

"Never had a kid named Malachy before..." Kloppman mumbled to himself. 

Malachy grinned. Joe tipped his hat to the two. "Well, Klop, I'll be seein' ya. Gotta get back to work. Take care, Malachy." He winked and slipped out the door. 

Kloppman went on to tell Malachy the rules of the lodging house and what he would be doing. 

"Selling newspapers?" Malachy asked in wonder. 

"Yep," Kloppman answered. 

"I don't have any money to pay my first night." 

Kloppman made a face. "Eh, it's on me. But just this once, ya hear?" 

Malachy grinned. "Yessir, I hear." 


	2. Part Two

Part Two Malachy looked at his hand. The other boys involved in the poker game were doing the same, so while their attention was elsewhere, Malachy slipped the ace of spades out of his sleeve and into his hand. Unfortunately for him, someone noticed. 

"Hey, Malachy, whatcha got there?" twelve-year-old Racetrack Higgins asked, a cheap cigar hanging from his lips. 

"N-nothin', Race," Malachy stammered, clutching his cards. 

"Nothin', eh? Well, ya shouldn't have no prollem wit me lookin' at yer hand," Race said, snatching the cards from Malachy. 

Making a face, Race grinned wickedly. "Fellas, I think we got ourselves a cheater here," he declared. 

"Eh, get outta the game, Cheater!" ten-year-old Jack Kelly ordered, taking a drag on his cigarette. 

Several of the other boys agreed that Malachy should drop out of the game, so he did so, thinking to himself that he shouldn't have even tried slipping that ace. 

Falling onto his bunk, Malachy propped his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. Eventually, his thoughts wandered home. In the two years that had passed since he had left, the pain was still as strong as ever. Malachy sqinted his eyes closed in an effort to keep the stinging tears at bay, but failed. He rolled over and buried his face in the pillow, unwilling for any of the other boys to see him crying. 

After a long while, someone tapped him on the shoulder. 

"Hey, ah, Cheater, time to buy evening edition." 

"All right, Race," he groaned, waiting for the other newsy to leave before pulling himself up off the bunk. 

Malachy hid his tear-stained face as he made his way to the washroom to splash it with cold water. He looked in the mirror at himself. His eyes were still bloodshot from tears, but he couldn't make that go away, so he just shrugged and went downstairs, exiting the lodging house and heading toward the distribution center. Purchasing thirty newspapers, he headed off to sell alone. 

"Extra, extra! Man finds goliath toad in apartment!" he yelled, unable to come up with anything more convincing. 

No one bought a paper on that headline. Malachy scanned the paper and found a real one. "Murder on West 57th street! Read all the horrifying details!" 

He sold half his papers quickly with that headline alone, and then moved on to a new block using the same headline. Within half an hour, all his papers were sold, and he sat down on the sidewalk to think. For a moment he wondered what it might be like to go back home, just for a moment, to see his parents and his brothers. He wondered if his mother had had another baby, if his brothers still visited his sister's grave every day to give her fresh flowers. He wondered what they thought of him, their son, who killed his little sister and then was such a coward that he ran away from home. Malachy envisioned his parents running to him, embracing him, laughing and crying. But those thoughts soon turned to the opposite. What if he went home and his parents wouldn't talk to him? What if they were cold and hateful toward him, ignoring him and making him feel even more like it was indeed his fault that Annie had died? As those thoughts entered his mind, Malachy decided then and there that there was no way he could ever return home. Pushing the saddening images of his family away, he stood up, brushing his pants off, and made his way to a corner cafe to get dinner. 

He sat alone in a corner booth. The waiter was very friendly. He smiled at Malachy. "Hello, there, young man. Haven't seen you in a while." 

Malachy grinned. That restaurant, Eddie's Cafe, was his favorite place to go. But, for the past few weeks, he had been unable to make enough money to purchase his dinners there. "Yeah..." he answered the waiter, whom he'd never met before, only seen. 

"I've seen ya around, kid," the waiter continued. "What's your name?" 

"Malachy." 

"Nice name. Irish, is it?" 

Malachy shrugged. "I don't know. My parents named me." 

The waiter laughed. "Well, Malachy, what can I get for ya?" 

Malachy shrugged. "Oh, just a turkey sandwich and a glass of water, please." 

"Yessir, comin' right up," the waiter grinned, winking, as he turned toward the kitchen. 

Malachy sank down into the cushion and sighed. He was thinking about his family again. "I'll never see them again," he whispered to himself. 

A single tear rolled down his cheek but he brushed it away defiantly. He had cried too many tears since he had come to the lodging house; he didn't want to cry any more. 

A moment later, the waiter returned with Malachy's food. Malachy thanked him and ate his dinner, afterward returning to the lodging house. 

He opened the door and entered into the lobby, seeing his friends sitting around, visiting. A new boy sat on the edge of the couch, having his ears talked off by Jack and Racetrack. Race looked up at Malachy. 

"Hey, Cheat, we got a new guy. Beggar Johnson." 

Malachy thought to himself for a moment. If he was never going back home, he was no longer Malachy. As he stuck out his hand to Beggar, he said, "Hi, I'm Ma - Cheater. Cheater Molloy." 

THE END


End file.
